Sisterhood: Nichols Junior arrives at Litchfield
by fandom-obsessor-xo
Summary: Nicky Nichols's life at Litchfield is turned upside down upon the arrival of her half sister, Nat Nichols. The prologue to this chapter may be a little boring but I feel it is necessary in order to introduce Nat and her life with crime a little before I begin her reunion with Nicky. Set after the last episode of series 2...first OITNB piece so please be nice to me! ;)
1. Prologue-Nat

I remember that day so well.

It was the second week into junior year and that day was the third time that my English teacher, the ever cynical Mr Latchland, had sent me out from his class. The class that I had originally felt honoured to be enrolled in. It was one assigned specifically for seniors, and everyone knows that being put in a twelfth grade class, especially for a subject as significant as English, was an extremely rare opportunity. And personally, because of my passion for the classes theme, it was one I was determined to hold on to tightly with both hands.

Ever since I can remember, all I've ever wanted to really do with my life was write. Since elementary school I have kept shabby notebooks, fat with the stacks of ivory paper sandwiched between it, scribbled with various musings and halted by two pieces of leather-bound cardboard. In middle school, I began to keep thinner, neater jotters with lines of disorientated poetry decorating the slices of its slender card. I'd tried writing novels, too. My Father had brought me a laptop at the inappropriate age of ten and, dissatisfied with the social networking sites and online board games that the internet had to offer, I spent hours tapping at my keyboard, typing out one storyline after another, until I finally found an idea that stuck, only to get tired of it a couple of days later.

So, anyway, you get my indication. I was an English junkie. And not just in the language or the writing sense, but also in the way of literature. I was also a very keen reader and back then if I was not reading something nor writing something, I was likely to be doing something that I did not enjoy. So you can imagine my frustration when I found out that twelfth grade English class was nothing more than a social opportunity to my fellow classmates. What was even worse was the fact Mr Latchland didn't give a flying fuck about this. He was in his mid seventies at the time, in my opinion _way _over the cut off point for retirement, and was by far the least passionate man I had ever encountered. The old bastard seemed bored with pretty much everything, including his students and his major. _Especially _that. Even now, after all that has happened since then, I get monumentally pissed off whilst thinking about that useless piece of shit.

On that particular day, Latchland had us reading aloud from _The Catcher in the Rye_. Thomas Golding, an nervous senior who seemed more like a gangly eight grader, had been assigned to read. Thomas voice was hoarse, as if he had a sore throat, and he was speaking fast, so though his words were helplessly tumbling over each other as he delivered them. If that wasn't aggravating enough, I could prominently hear the conversation a gaggle of girls were having behind me, giggling and cooing moronically about the fall dance. I turned to them. Obviously recognising my annoyance, one of the girls, a absent minded cheerleader named Hilary, throws a smirk in my direction.

And that's when I lose it.

"Oh for fucks sake!" I yell, getting up from my seat. "Don't any of you want to get into a decent collage?!" The class erupts in to laughter, which only increases my anger.

"Yes, thank you, Miss Nichols, that's quite enough." Latchland says, boredom dictating his expression and sarcasm leaking into his tone. I ignore him.

"Seriously, I mean, are you could at least _try!_" I pause for breath. "You might actually learn something. It's a great book about a guy who doesn't put any effort into any of his classes, except English, which is pretty ironic if you think about our situation. Anyway, he flunks all his classes but his literature class so he runs away back to his home in New York, and the novels about him passing the time until he can go home to his family." I take another breather, my voice a little softer now. "He gets really messed in head during this time, and ends up having to go to a hospital." I hear one of the cheerleaders from behind me titter. "Yeah sure, fucking laugh at me, just because I'm not a uneducated, shallow minded cocksucker who actually takes her education seriously."

"Thank you for that little summary Natasha, but this is really not the time nor the place, and I would appreciate if you refrained from using such language in my…"Latchland begins.

"Yes, you should be fucking thankful!" I find myself screaming at him, my rage storming completely out of my control now. "I've just done your job for you. The job you've claimed to of done since the 1940's or some shit!"

"That's it!" He shouts back at me, specs of his spit flying across the room. "I want you out, now! Get your pretentious little backside out of my class and down to the principal's office!"

"Wha…" I start, the reality of the situation finally hitting me. On the previous two occasions this had happened I had simply been sent to stand outside for ten minutes to 'reflect'. Mind you, on the previous two occasions I hadn't sworn at a teacher or called someone a 'cocksucker', so thinking back it was probably fairer than I thought.

"Now!" Latchland roars again, motioning towards the door.

* * *

So I left.

And that is when I saw him, leant casually against a stack of lockers, dripping mop in one hand, a tattered novel in the other, staring right at me.

It was not the first time I had set eyes on Joel Winters. He'd been the assistant caretaker at the school for over a year now, and it was a known fact that the majority of its female population, and a prominent amount of its male one, were besotted by him.

It wasn't as though I couldn't see why. With eyes the blue of a dawning sky, and a mane of dark chaotic waves lapping his shoulders, it was easy to see how one could swoon over him. He was the sort of guy I had only read about in books. That is the conclusion I came to after seeing him that day, after just really _looking_ at him for the first time, instead of throwing the odd vague glance in his direction from time to time. I know it sounds cliché and corny, but they are honestly the only words I can summon in order to describe Joel Winters too you. I would later find out that these very words also fitted a variety of Joel's personality traits, not to mention the extraordinary situations he often found himself caught up in.

"Hey" He purrs in his southern drawl, catching me off guard. "I've seen you before. Do you get sent out often?"

I shrug. "No…I…I mean, not usually. Only in this class." I reply, heat rushing to my cheeks.

"You rebel." Joel mocks, a wide grin spread across his face.

"Are you taking the piss?" I snap back defensively.

"No!" He replies, seeming a little offended by this assumption. "I was just kidding with ya."

"Okay…well, anyway, I gotta go." I say sheepishly, beginning to make my way down the corridor.

"Wait!" I hear him yell. I hesitate before turning back round to face him.

"What?"

"You wanna get outta here?" He says it so casually, as if he was simply asking me to run an errand for him or something.

"What the fuck?"

Joel shrugs. "You don't have to, just thought it'd be more fun for you than getting yelled at by a self conceited arsehole all afternoon." It's that last comment that catches my attention. I take a step back towards him.

"Where would we go?" I ask warily.

He shrugs again. "Anywhere" Then, sensing my hesitation, adds "It'll be an adventure"

I tilt my head to one side. "And why would _you_, want to go anywhere with _me_?"

Joel laughs. "Because I have a hangover and don't feel like spending the rest of the day listening to overly hormonal kids, such as your good self, yelling abuse at their teachers. My head aches enough as it is!"

I feel cheeks tint crimson and drop my gaze. I knew he was joking, but still, it was more than a little bit embarrassing that he had overheard everything that had just happened.

"So, you in?" He persists.

I contemplate things for a moment, but only for a second or two, before I give him an answer. "Sure" I say, trying to sound as relaxed as he had. "Why not?!"

I knew it was_ totally_ crazy and irresponsible to skip school and go wandering around town with a random guy, but it was also bound to be interesting, and interesting moments in life often lead to experiences, which lead to inspiration in the world of a writer. Experience was something I was definitely lacking at that moment in time, and after the day I had endured, I figured I could use a little fun.

"Great!" Joel says, beginning to jog over to where I am stood. "My rides in the parking lot."

* * *

Less than half an hour later, I am squashed between Joel and the passenger door of his confined Volvo, as Joel drives down a series of unfamiliar alley ways. I had never been to this part of town before. My Father had always referred to it as the 'slums' and was the place in which our towns drug addicts and thieves spent their time. In fact, just a few weeks ago, a stabbing had taken place in an alley that was likely to be identical to the ones we are currently driving through, and the thought of that alone is enough to make my heart thump violently against my chest. "Wh...Where are we going?" I ask Joel, unable to keep my voice from wavering.

"It won't be long now. I'm just picking up a friend. Then we'll drive over to the mall." He explains, diverting his attention from the road so he can look at me. "Don't come down these roads often, huh?" He asks me, his expression kind and sympathetic. I give a quick shrug, embarrassed by my inexperience. "Don't worry, before I moved up here, I'd only driven through the nicest part of the state, too. It's a bit of a shock to the system isn't it?"

"Yeah." I mumble. "So, does your friend live down here, then?" I ask, keen to change the subject.

"Na, she lives a little further on, in some crappy block of flats." Joel replies. "She's only down here because she's working today."

"Oh" I say "What does she do for work?"

"She deals."

"_Deals?_" I pursue.

"Yeah, deals." Sensing my confusion, Joel quickly adds "You know…drugs and stuff…"

I swear by this point my eyes almost pop out from their sockets, but I try to play it cool. Its obvious from Joel's expression that this is no joke, I really _am_ going to be sharing a car with a drug dealer in a few minutes time.

"Oh." I repeat, dumbfounded.

"Yeah." Joel replies, and then he begins to laugh. "Don't worry, Elsie's not like the dealers you see of the TV, she's a sweetheart."

And then, in almost perfect sync with his introduction to her, the Volvo pulls to a halt and in jumps a young girl. With her ash blonde hair scraped back into a severe updo and various pieces of metal decorating her ears and face, Elise seems anything but sweetheartish. Wrapping her legs around the head of Joel's seat, I see her through the rear-view mirror pulling out a packet of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. She offers the pack to Joel, who accepts, and then, without even seeming the tiniest bit surprised about my presence, waves the carton in front of me.

"No thanks" I decline coyly. "I don't smoke…"

"Fair enough." She grunts, pulling back her arm and lighting a cigarette for herself. After her own is a light, Elsie leans back over so she's in line with Joel so that she can light his, then they both unwind their windows and take a drag, letting the bitter autumn wind outside consume the car.

"So, what's the plan?"Elsie asks before going back to suck on her cigarette.

"We're going to the mall, we need supplies." Joel replies.

"Supplies?" I ask without thinking.

"Yeah, supplies. Stuff. Things to sell on and things to keep us alive." Elsie explains, already seeming bored with my hopelessness.

"Have you ever heard of the ledged of Robin Hood, Natasha?" Joel asks patiently.

"How do you know my name? I never told you…"

"Well, that's kind of what Elsie and I do." He continues. "Steal from the rich, give to the poor, which in this case, is ourselves. Legally and religiously it is wrong, sure, but if you look at it with an open mind, we are simply doing what we need to do to survive."

Okay. So now I'm sharing a capacity with not just a drug dealer, but also with a couple of shoplifters…

"What drugs do you sell?" I surprise myself by asking Elsie, who looks equally as shocked.

"Um, just weed and pills mainly, sometimes I get other stuff come in though." She replies cautiously.

"My sisters a drug addict." I say. I'm not lying. My older sister, Nicky, whom I was related to through my Fathers previous marriage , had been using heroin since I was twelve years old. During the summer of my Freshman year, Nicky found herself homeless and after much reluctance and bickering with my Mother and I, my Father found it in his heart to let her stay with us for a while.

It sounds corny, but it was probably the best summer of my life. I'd only ever usually see my sister a couple of times a year, and recently it hadn't even been that. I know that when I was a little kid her Mother would spend Christmas at adult only holiday resorts, and Nicky would come stay with us for a week or two, but when I was around five or six, as Nicky turned sixteen and no longer needed to be 'babysitted.' Apart from that, I'd only occasionally see her at large family gatherings, which she'd often only attend for the free alcohol and to become acquainted with my Fathers wealthy friends whose money she could steal.

I was twelve years old when I found out about her drug problem. She came to my Bat Mitzvah, which is basically the female version of a Bar Mitzvah, as high as fucking kite. My parents were obviously mortified by this, and sent her home as soon as they recognised the warning signs. Since that day, I hadn't seen her until she rocked up that summer. I was so _glad _to see her. Despite her recklessness and extraordinary ability to fuck absolutely _everything_ up, she was still my sister and the funniest, most exciting yet strangely compassionate, person that I had ever met.

She lasted three weeks. Three weeks without even an ounce of heroin, or anything else for that matter. She hadn't even drank alcohol. Until one day things suddenly turned to shit again and Nicky relapsed. Somehow she managed to find a dealer in our area who sold cocaine. "Not my first choice, but good a fucking enough!" She'd told me when she came back with it. My Mother and Father had gone to dinner with friends, and they had trusted Nicky to take care of me for the evening. Instead of dinner, Nicky served up a line of cocaine for me to sniff. She probably had about ten times as many herself as half an hour later, she was on the floor having some seizure, and I had to call the ambulance and then my parents, whom took me to the emergency room with them to get me checked out. I was fine, but Nicky wasn't. Her heart had gotten infected and she'd had to undergo open heart surgery. She almost died. My parents wouldn't let me see her, said it'd be too painful and that I shouldn't be around such a piousness circumstance. After that, I never saw her again. I think her Mother sent her to yet another rehab facility, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Since that night, I've always had a fervent hate for drugs and the people whom pimp them. Drug dealers had stolen away my sister, and no matter the circumstance, I could never forgive them for that.

"Oh, really?" Elsie asks, seeming slightly amused by this.

"Yeah, she does heroin mostly, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's done all that too."

"Well!" Elsie smirks. "If she ever needs a hit, tell her to come find me!"

It was weird. For some reason this comment did not make me feel anything. Not anger, nor pain or regret. Simply nothing. Just as her prescience in the car hadn't stirred up anything inside me other than making me feel slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fear eliminating my emotions, or perhaps I was more open minded about these things than I had anticipated, but whatever it was, it was certainly unexpected.

After a little while longer of driving along the motor way in silence, Joel pulls up outside the mall. He reverses into a parking space, stubs out the butt of his cigarette against the door of the Volvo, and swings himself out of the car. Elsie is quick to follow, and then me.

"Right." Joel mutters when we're all out of the car and gathered together. "I'm taking Natasha down to do some little league work, as I presume it's your first time, right?" I find myself nodding in response. "Right, okay, so you think you'll be okay on your own, babe? He says to Elsie, who also nods. "Great, we'll meet you back at the car in a hour then."

* * *

The shopping center is significantly more empty than usual, which was probably down to the fact it was a Thursday afternoon and not a weekend. Joel takes my hand and leads me towards and rundown drug store in the center of the second floor, his face shiny with sweat but his breathing steady.

"I know your name because I've been watching you, Natasha." He whispers as we reach the store doors. "I've been wanting to invite you out with us for a while now, since last term. You're different from the other kids at school…smarter."

Suddenly the realness of the situation washes over me. I am at the mall, preparing myself to steal cosmetics with a ridiculously hot boy I have never spoken to prior to that day. Shit. What was I doing? What the fuck was I doing?! I was meant to be in American History class right now, not assisting two criminals in their shoplifting scheme!

"Joel…I…I don't think I can do this." Joel lowers his head.

"It's okay." He says after a while. "I should of asked you…I guess I'd just assumed you'd be in…I forget that some people don't get pleasure out of doing this shit."

I shrug. "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't want to try it, I just don't want to risk getting caught, you know?"

"You won't get caught. Not if you're with me." Says Joel hopefully. "I promise."

"Like I said…I don't want to risk it." The wounded expression returns Joel's face, and I feel an uncomfortable twisting sensation in the gut of my stomach. How could I let him down? When he'd believed in me enough to risk the job he seemed to so desperately need to take me out of school, when he'd spent months working up the courage to invite me out with him? I sigh. "What would we take?" Joel grins.

"Well, it's your first time, so just some nail polish probably, and maybe some candy or something. Nothing that could get me in to _too_ much trouble if I have to take the rap for you.

I breathe in and squeeze my eyes shut, not quite believing what I am about to say. "Okay, let's do it."

"You sure?" Joe asks, although his expression tells me that he is not expecting me to change my mind this time.

"Yeah, I'm sure." I reply, taking a step towards the doors of the drugstore. "I guess it's another thing to add to my list of teenage rebellion!" I joke nervously. Joel erupts in to a bout of confident laughter, swinging his broad arm over my shoulders as he does so.

"Hey, you never know, if this goes well, we might be able to talk you into having a cigarette as well!"He says as we reach the drugstore doors.

"Ha-ha, don't push it!" I banter back.

And Joel shoves open the doors and we are inside, among shelf upon shelf and aisle upon aisle of make-up and hair products and other bathroom and beauty 'essentials'. At the front of the store, a small row of plastic shelves hold a series of candy bars, and behind them a middle aged woman with vibrant red hair is flicking through a magazine at the cashier desk.

I let Joel lead me down one of the aisles, gripping his hand tightly despite the fact that I could feel my own beginning to moisten with sweat. My heart is thrusting wildly against my breastbone and I can feel vomit rising in my stomach, making its way to settle in my throat…

Joel stops in front of a shelf of brightly colored nail polish. Nodding his head forward slightly, he motions at the polish, before picking up a container filled with orange polish and dropping it in his jean pocket. Trying to think over the situation as little as possible, I reach forward and wrap my shaking fingers around an aqua colored polish. Slowly, I pull back my hand and shove it into pocketless jacket, wedging the polish under my armpit.

Joel gives me an encouraging smile, before making his way to the front of the room, motioning for me to follow him. Silently, he points to the candy laid out before the cashier, whom was still seemingly engrossed in her magazine. Feeling confident after my prior success, I spontaneously swoop forward towards the top shelf, the bottle of smuggled nail polish crashing to the floor as I do so. The cashier looks up from her magazine, to the fallen nail polish, then to Joel and I. "Did you intend to pay for this?" She asks, obviously very pissed off. But before I can respond, Joel is grabbing a handful of candy from the shelf and is yelling for me to run. Before I do so, I find myself swooping up the fallen nail polish and a the two candy bars that he had dropped from his collection. "Hurry the fuck _up_ Natasha!" I hear yelled from in front of me. Behind me I can hear the cashier talking, presumably through a device supplied by security. Panic rushes through my veins, but somehow it is sweeter than I had remembered him. More like a rush of adrenalin rather than one of anxiety. I had only felt this way whilst writing before, and it felt good to feel in touch with the same feeling of excitement and thrill whilst participating in a completely diverse situation. I cannot tell you that I didn't enjoy it.

Before long, I can no longer see or hear the cashier. Joel is still prominently in front of me, but I notice that his sprint has slowed to a steady jog, indicating that we are almost out of danger. Forcing forward my aching body, I catch up with him in a matter of seconds, just as he is bounding out of the mall doors into the town square.

"We did it!" He exhales when we step outside, obviously as relieved and stung with adrenalin as myself. " Wow…Fuck! I haven't had a chase like that in forever! And all for a couple of poxy nail polishes…fuck!" The exhilaration in his voice reminds of Nicky on the night she took the Cocaine. It's nice to know people can feel that way _without _overdosing on a lethal intoxication.

"That was _so_ brilliant!" I say, throwing myself into his outstretched arms, our goods now safely inside a carrier bag that had been stuffed in the back of his jeans all along. "How was that be so fucking brilliant? I mean, seriously…"

And then, something even more unforeseen happens.

Joel kisses me.

Softly to begin with, his mouth still sealed shut but pressed firmly against mine, and then harder, his lips pealing open to embrace mine. I had never been kissed before, had not even received a peck on the lips at a middle school dance, despite the fact that I was fast approaching seventeen. It was wonderful. So tender and emotional and fantastically strange, like some sort of weird partner dance that only lips are capable of participating in.

In that moment, all that mattered was Joel and I. Nothing else existed. Especially nothing negative, such as the fact that the school was bound to have rung my parents to report my absence, and that Joel and Elsie had quite obviously manipulated me into joining their ring of criminal activity. Not the fact that now I had experienced such a thrill once, I would likely be hooked to such excitement, and quite probably go on to do bigger and badder things. And definitely not the possibility than befriending Joel and Elsie could quite possibly be the beginning of the end…


	2. Well Fuck Me!-Nat

**WARNING: This chapter does contain fairly graphic details regarding self injury. I decided to make Nat a self harmer so she could relate to Nicky's addiction to drugs on a personal level. If you feel as though this chapter will trigger or influence you at all, I urge not to read beyond this point, or at least enter with caution. Self injury will be a frequent theme throughout this story, therefore this is the only message I will post in regard to it, as otherwise I'll be writing warnings every other chapter…**

**Anyway…I hope you enjoy the chapter and please feel free to leave reviews!**

* * *

The day I arrived at Litchfield was a damp one, filled with the scent of clean grass and moisture. The whole of the prison was veiled with a thin blanket of morning dew, the first of the spring shrubberies were beginning to sprout from beneath the harsh concrete and the melody of bird whistles cut through the awkward silence that filled the prison van with the surety of a blade. Morello, the surprisingly enthusiastic inmate who spoke with a strong Jersey accent and whom also was in charge of driving the van, had put the heater on, but I can't say that it made much of a difference to the airs bitterness.

"I'd crank it up higher" Morello said "But it smells like shit if you go past a certain mark, and personally, I don't think the smell of mouse crap is anymore appealin than the cold!"

We didn't laugh at her attempt at humour, me and the other juvy transfer who sat beside me, and I think this made her feel awkward. I knew I should feel bad. The old Nat would have felt like a bitch not to laugh. But the old Nat had died a long time ago.

Suddenly, the door to the van is flung open and in comes another woman, this one significantly older than the two of us, wearing prominent black glasses and a bored expression. I don't know what it was about her, perhaps the tattoo's that dotted her exposed arms, or maybe the coolness of her attitude, but something told me that it wasn't her first time in the back of a prison van. Intimidated, I offer her a small smile, which she returns with a slow, unreadable blink, before turning her head towards back towards the front of the vehicle.

"_Alex!_" Morello cries as soon as she recognises who the woman is, whipping herself round to face the three of us. "What you doin back so soon?"

Alex shrugged. "The outside world had nothing on this place." She replies ironically, smiling fondly at Morello.

"These two just came from juvy." Morello explains, motioning at the girl and I. "That's Nichols…" She points to me "and this is…hey, what's your name again hunny?"

"Veil." The girl beside me mumbles

"Right!"

"Hey, we've already got a Nichols, so you better think of a new name, kid." Alex informs me. "You look kinda like her too…same hair." She motions at my hair, untamed and coiled in to a series of inaccurate ringlets. One hundred percent natural. There was no legitimate reason for criminals to be supplied with straightening tongs.

"Yeah, come to think of, so ya do." Says Morello, tilting her head to one side.

"What are we fuckin waiting for? Why can't we get goin already?" Veil snaps suddenly, leaning forward in her seat and tapping her foot in an aggravated manner.

"We just gotta wait for the CO, then we'll get movin" Morello tells her, obviously as taken back with her sudden forwardness as the rest of us "Nothin I can do about it."

"Fuckin CO's can kiss my ass!" Veil mutters.

Alex sniggers.

Then, as if on cue, the passenger door beside Morello swings open. A young man, no older than in his late twenties, gets into the van, his efficient uniform conforming what I had already expected. He had a friendly face and broad shoulders which in my eyes made him handsome, but not Joel handsome. He passes Morello a clipboard that holding together several scraps of paper.

"Hey Bennett!" Morello says, starting up the van. "Took ya time, didn't ya?"

"To right he fuckin did!" Grumbles the increasingly irritating Veil.

"I had to fill out some paperwork." Bennett explains as he fastens his seatbelt. "And don't speak to me like that inmate!" His stern voice sounds wrong, like it doesn't quite belong to him.

"Yeah or what?" Veil challenges.

"Or you'll go straight from this van to solitary!"

That shut her up.

We resumed back to quietness until we reached the prison gates, when Bennett got out of the van to inform the officers inside to open up. The threatening iron bars fling open almost immediately, almost but not quite hitting the van, and on Morello drives us, leaving the CO behind us.

Crowds of women roam around the facility's opening, all of different ethnic backgrounds, body structures and maturity. Some of them looked more like men, with their buzz cut hair styles and cheap tattoo's, whereas others seemed so ordinary that could of just of easily been a housewives. One thing was for sure; this place was defiantly a step up from the familiarity of the detention centre.

Morello leads the three of us through the prison doors and down a bleak corridor, halting us as we reach what seems to be a CO office as she studies the contents of the clipboard. "Okay, Vause and Nichols you're in with DeMarco so we'll carry on along this block to deliver you there and then" She says tucking a strand of hair behind her ears "We'll go on a little way down the block where you'll be stayin Veil and…"

"Hey Vause!" Yells someone from behind us. A familiar someone, a someone I can not quite put my finger on, but definitely someone I knew.

"Nicky!" Alex squeals, and that's when I knew.

Knew that that someone wasn't just anyone.

That that someone was in fact my sister.

Before I can say anything, I turn around and the realisation hits her too. Her eyes, alert and shining like two summer chestnuts, widen and her lips form a perfect circle.

"_Fuck!_" She says with arched eyebrows, making her way slowly towards me. "_Nat?_ Is that you?" I nod pathetically, not quite sure of how to tackle such an unexpected situation.

"Wait" Alex says, still stood between us "You two actually _know_ each other?"

Nicky and I nod in union.

"Well fuck me!"

"Seriously?" Morello chips in.

"Yeah, she's my baby sister…" Nicky explains, her gaze still fixed on me, bewildered.

"You never said you had a sister, Nichols, why didn't ya fucking tell me?" Morello sulks.

"You never asked." She says as she makes her way towards me. When she reaches where I am stood, she just stares at me for another moment or two, before putting her hands firmly on my shoulders and saying "What the fuck are you doing here, Nat?"

* * *

Morello told Nicky we had to finish the tour before she spoke to me, so soon after our little reunion she took off back down the hall with a petite blonde woman whom, according to the row that commenced between the two of them, was presumably Alex's 'traitor of a girlfriend'.

The bunk in which Alex and I had been assigned to was basic, to say the least. Three twin bunk beds stood in all but one of the rooms corners and unlike my living space back at the detention centre, there was no personal lavatory area. Morello explained to me that there were only three bathrooms at Litchfield, one for each ethnic race, which seemed a little racist and unecercerry if you asked me, but of course, nobody did. The walls and concrete flooring were the same colour as the dull sky outside and there were no windows in sight. As I begin to make my way to the top bunk assigned to me by Morello, above the infamous DeMarco, I feel someone tap me on the shoulder.

"Here" Says Morello, thrusting a toothbrush and a tube of paste in to my hands. "We look out for our own in here. And seeing as your Nicky's sister n all…" She fumbles in the pockets of her jacket, retrieving a small container. "Shampoo. They don't give you any till ya get assigned, so…"

"You got any for me, Morello?" Alex hints from across the room. "I could really use me some shampoo!" Morello tuts, but throws the same set minus the hair product in her direction. "Sorry. Aint got anymore at the moment, that lot was meant to be a lil extra for me…" Suddenly I feel the wave of guilt I had longed for earlier come crashing against my stomach.

"Thank you." I say softly. "You didn't have to."

Morello grins. "Any family of Nicky's is family of mine. Don't worry about it, I got more." And with that, she friendlily pats me on the shoulder and exits the room. I make my way up to my bunk, throwing her gifts up there first and then hoisting my fatigued body over the metal railings.

"Don't make ya bed, kid." DeMarco warns me from below. "We do that. We know how to do it right."

"How to do it right?" I repeat.

"Yeah. So we pass inspections an shit."

"Okay…" I say, caution lacing my voice. "Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah. Don't sleep _in_ the bed, just under the blanket provided." Alex adds.

"What the…why?"

"Why do they always ask that?" DeMarco groans.

"Go easy on her, Anita. She's Nichols baby sis." Says another inmate who Morello referred to as Harrison whilst making the introductions.

"I don't give a shit. I aint liked Nichols attitude, not since last year when she got all antsy with me when Red got socked!" Says DeMarco.

"What the fuck, she did not!" Harrison argues.

"Did fuckin so!"

"Can ya fuckin blame her even if she did?"

"Course I fuckin can!"

I catch Alex's eye from across the room. She winks at me, in a way that even my heterosexual self cannot describe as anything other than suggestively.

"You should go see Nicky when you can. She'll be worried." Alex says from across the room, raising her voice so I can hear her above the squabbling ladies below.

"Will she?" I inquire. From what I knew of Nicky, worrying wasn't really her style.

"Yeah. She's all heart, that one."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Nope!" Alex replies, swinging her legs over her bunk so she can make her way back downwards.

"Where you going?"

"To verbally beat the shit out of Piper some more." She singsongs.

"Is Piper the blonde lady?"

"Yep. She'll be bitching about me to Nicky, I bet, so feel free to tag along." I shake my head. I wasn't ready to face her. Not yet. I needed time to think. Time to relieve myself.

* * *

Dinner is at four thirty. I don't think I'd ever had a meal so early in my life, and I was far from hungry for one, however doubting I had a choice in the matter, I follow DeMarco and Harrison down into the dining hall. They hadn't stopped bickering all afternoon. It stopped being about Nicky after a while and began to revolve around topics such as laundry and DeMarco's 'loud ass sleeping machine'. I had managed to create four gashes in that time, all significantly deep and slightly gaping open. As I file in behind the other women into the cafeteria, I feel for my wounds, craving their comfort.

Getting the blade in wasn't easy. I'd only been given a weeks' notice for my transfer, but common sense told me that I was likely to be moved around the time of my eighteenth birthday and therefore I had been preparing smuggling it in for a while. I'd gotten it from my former roomie, a violent yet strangely lovable fourteen year old charged with second degree murder. She'd always have a weapon of some sort hidden under her bed, claiming that she could never let the threat of a CO molesting her looming. Her name was Lea and she'd slit her step fathers throat in his sleep to stop him raping her. Fairly common stuff in a maximum security juvenile centre, but unsettling even so.

Anyway, Lea had given me the blade in return for a packet of Twinkies my Mother had brought for me during one visitation, way back when I was still in contact with her. After finding out about my parents ongoing divorce, I'd cut my ties with her completely, and therefore neglected the Twinkies in protest. My father didn't come to see me either. He hadn't since I was sentenced.

A month before my eighteenth birthday, I began to gather supplies. A sealed plastic pocket stolen from CO headquarters, trades of cotton wool and coco butter from Candy, the centres known beauty freak. Just a little under two weeks before my predicted transfer, I had everything I needed. Wounding cotton wool around the steel rectangle carefully so as not to unintentionally cut myself, I stuck the ends of each pad together with coco butter. I'd to this four or five times over, to create a substantial amount of padding, and then, to finish, I slip the object into the plastic pocket. Then, aided with several cups of water from the canteen and Lea persistently prodding it with a straw , I manage to swallow it down, and about twenty four hours later, I endure the excruciating pain of shitting it out. After retrieving it from the bowl of the lavatory and thoroughly scrubbing it under the bathroom sink, I took my creation apart and redid this whole ritual again nine days later. I consumed it on my birthday and retrieved it a day later, just as the coach pulled into the administration centre for Litchfield prison a day later, _way_ after all the searches had taken place. It was a bit of a lengthily process, I admit, and conducting a trial run may have been going a little too far even for me, but I couldn't last a day without that god damn blade, let alone the rest of my god damn sentence, so I had to refrain from taking risks.

She's already there when I arrive, squashed between Piper and Morello on one the centre benches, her tray loaded with what seemed to be potato's and stale baloney. Trying my best to dodge her attention, I quickly make my way to the back of the line, huddled up between a huge black woman and an elderly Thai one. Once we reach the front of the queue, the black women turns to me as she picks up a plastic tray.

"Hey, you da new gurl? She drawls. "Yano, the one who's Nichols sister?" I nod apprehensively . "Well fuck me!" Says the woman, as the young Latina girl behind the counter piles baloney on to her tray.

"Jesus, Cindy!" Says another, smaller yet just as busty, black girl a couple of spaces in front. "You can't just go round asking the new recruits to fuck ya!"

"Especially not ones as baby faced as Nichols junior here!" Chips in the girl on the other side of Cindy. She is too Afro Caribbean, but a slightly paler brown than the other two, with a slim, boy like figure and a shaven head.

"Shut da fuck up muddafucka's!" Says Cindy, playfully shoving aside the woman whom had just spoken. "You know what I mean!"

"We sure do!" Says the first women, wiggling her eyebrows up and down in a mocking manner.

"Fuck you, Tastee, seriously man."

"Na your alright hunni boo!" Tastee teases.

By this point, I am so engrossed in the women's banter that I have no realised that the Latina woman who had served Cindy is now eyeing me up impatiently, waiting to take my order.

"Just a couple of slices please." I murmur.

"A _couple_?"

"Yeah, I'm not really that hungry…"

The girl sniggers. "Ya get what you given muddafucka. Dis aint no fuckin five star restraint, ya hear me?"

"But um…everyone else has got more than two slices…" I dare to bring up.

"Everyone else aint new meat. Everyone else aint Nichols sista. I aint neva liked Nichols. N-e-v-a. She aint neva been eating any of us Spanish girls pussies, I tell ya!"

Just as I'm about to back down, about to pass up on the baloney, that is the colour of flesh and looks as though it may be as old as the Thai woman waiting in line next to me, Nicky's suddenly behind me, draping her arm casually over my shoulder.

"How do you know that, Flaca?" She says coolly. "You don't know shit!"

"Fuck off Nichols, you got ya baloney!"

"No seriously, you don't know shit, I was screwing one of ya girls just this afternoon!" Nicky sticks out her tongue between her two middle fingers, wagging it wildly from side to side, just as another, older Latina woman comes to the counter.

"Run along, Nichols, Flaca gave you ya baloney, what's the fuckin problem?" Says the older woman, who I presume to be head chef.

"Flaca's not giving her any baloney, she's had a long fuckin day and she could use some fuckin food!" Nicky protests, gently pushing me aside and slamming her hands on the counter. I squirm at her protectiveness. Depending on your junkie older sister really didn't seem like the way to make a good first impression here…

"Its fine." I mumble. "I don't even want the damn baloney."

"Good to hear, cos now ya aint gettin none!" Concludes the older lady as she makes her way back in to the kitchen, leaving Flaca with an irritating smirk spread across her face. Nicky presses her hand against the small of my back.

"You can have some of mine baloney if you want, kid."

"I'm good." I mutter, nodding for yet another Spanish girl, this one taking me by surprise with her swollen stomach and glowing skin, to pile my plate with potato's.

"Right, well, come sit with us when you're done, or whatever." Nicky murmurs, twisting her fingers together as if uncomfortable.

"Thanks, I will do." I reply, avoiding her gaze. Instead I watch a handful of vibrant green pea's fall on to plate. Nicky leaves, and I pick up a undersized muffin before apprehensively joining her back at the table. As soon as the girls see me hovering, they practically pull me down with their enthusiasm.

"Hey!" Squeals Morello "Look who it is!"

"At last!" Says Piper "The girls haven't quit talking about you since you got here."

"Not like we got anything betta to talk about!" Morello replies. Piper extends her hand to me from across the table.

"Chapman."

"Nat." I reply, gripping her hand in mine.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Nat." She concludes, letting go of my hand.

"Likewise."

"Oh can we cut the fuckin formalities?" Nicky says, but with a prominent cheerfulness in her tone. Alex, whom by this point is perched on the far side of the bench, next to an overweight lady with a masculine crew-cut, laughs at this comment.

"Yeah, let's get to the interesting shit!" The overweight lady jeers, leaning across the table as though to see me better. "What did ya do, kid?"

"Um…" I begin, taken aback by her forwardness.

"Hey, shut the fuck up, Boo." Nicky intervenes. She turns to look at me, sincerity in her eyes. "Don't worry, you aint gotta tell her nothin."

"Hey you're the one who told her to quit the fuckin formalities!" Boo argues.

Nicky smirks. "That's because I'm her fuckin sister. You? You're just some dyke who wants to get into her panties."

I gasp at this comment, earning me a series of amused looks from Morello, Chapman, and the various other women that sat on my side of the bench.

Boo chuckles. "You can't fuck family! And, unfortunately, any family of Nichols gotta be family of mine!" She bends a little more forward across the bench, eyeing me up intently. "Damn shame though, with titties like those!" Boo licks her lips and everyone at the bench, apart from me, erupts into laughter. I feel my cheeks tinting crimson.

"So, seriously" Says Alex when the laughter had died down "What did ya do?

"Fucked a llama whilst holidaying in Mexico" I say sarcastically, aggravated by her persistence "What about you?"

"Seriously?!" Morello gawped.

"Fuck no, she's just kiddin with ya!"Says Nicky, although even she seems a little unsure.

"I worked for an international drug cartel. Smuggled drugs around Europe n shit." Alex replies bluntly. "Piper over there was my bitch."

I try to suppress a bout of nervous laughter, and fail miserably.

"It's true." Chapman admits solemnly. "The asshole turned me in."

"She can't have done much." Boo chips in. "Lil scrap like her."

"You'd be surprised, I mean, look at Morello!" Nicky mocks, triggering Morello to give her a half hearted shove.

"Was it drugs, was that it?" Guesses Boo. "Do ya take after Nichols?

I shake my head, then lower it to disguise the burning of my cheeks.

"Ya steal shit?" Pipes in the woman who sits on the other side of Morello.

"Hey, stop it!" Nicky warns. "If she don't wanna tell ya, she don't have to."

Boo mock gasps. "Did ya rape someone? You a bit of a pervert like ya sister?"

"Shut the fuck _up_ Boo! Just because I get better screws than you!"

"Did you kill someone?" Someone from the far end of the table suddenly asks. From the limited view I have of her, I see that she is older, with a petite structure and a mop of short blonde hair.

A dozen pairs of eyes look at me expectantly, waiting for me to dismiss this suggestion like I had the others. But of course I don't. Lying isn't something I like to make a habit of. Which is exactly why I had pleaded not guilty. Needless to say, they hadn't brought my honesty, and officially, according to the state of law, I _had_ killed someone. I had formally been charged with Manslaughter a couple of days prior to my seventeenth birthday, almost a year ago now. I'd have to serve at least six years, maximum fourteen, and that was only because my father could afford to pay for a good lawyer. Apparently I should have been looking at a minimum of fifteen, giving the 'grotesque' circumstances of my apparent crime taken into account with my age. If I had been a year older, and had some shitty state lawyer, I'd been told I could been doing life. I suppose this is meant to make me feel grateful, but I feel anything but that, as the only crime I ever committed was allowing my fragile heart to be broken and my naïve nature to be influenced. Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

I can't stay there. Not after they see the truth in my eyes and begin to gawk at me in horror, suddenly fearing for their safety whilst in my presence. Even Nicky can't look at me. After seeing my revelation her compassion for me has vanished, the ties of our relation broken. I get up from my seat and run from the cafeteria, past the line of on looking guards, past the now almost nonexistent dinner queue and back into the empty halls.

It takes me a while to find my way back to my bunk, but the promise of a release motivates me through.


	3. A Different Perspective-Nicky

"She_ killed_ someone?" I hear Alex rasp from the other end of the bench.

"We don't know that, not for sure" Says Morello in an obvious attempt to comfort me "She didn't say nuthin!" Piper sympathetically presses her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off, her sweetness giving me a toothache.

"Well it sure as hell aint looking promising" Boo mutters, a hint of uncharacteristic compassion lacing her tone. As she gets up from the bench in order to deliver her tray back to the kitchen, she ruffles my hair. The pity being thrown at me by my friends, the very group of people who I like to think hold great respect and admiration requiring my presence, is almost too much to bare. If there is one thing I can't fucking stand, its pity. I almost get up and follow Nat out, shame burning at my cheeks and eating away at my pride. But I can't do that, I can't reveal weakness, not now of all times when I am already feeling so exposed.

"I'm so sorry Nicky, I didn't actually think…" Yoga Jones whispers to me, placing a wrinkled mitt on my forearm. "If I'd of known, you know I wouldn't have said anything."

"Yeah, I know." I mumble. "Just sucks that ya did." Jones smiles sadly, her hand still pressed firmly against my forearm.

"You know, talking things through with her might help, might shine a different perspective on things. You don't know what she was charged with…it could have been a complete accident" She pauses, her face turning grave, as she quite possibly relives the trauma of her own Manslaughter conviction "It often is, you know."

I nod, and try to smile. I can't blame the wacko for what she said, Nat doesn't exactly fit the stereotypical profile for someone down for a violent offence. Like me, she was short, with a pillow of unkempt waves framing her face. However, she also had many dissimilar traits to me, for example, her slender frame and sunken features, which indicated the kid hadn't eaten a decent meal for months. Polite and reserved, her mentality to prison life also seemed significantly dissimilar from my own, however it's not as though I'd been around her long enough in the setting to make an well informed judgment.

"Nicky" Alex hisses at me, disturbing my trail of thought. "You okay?" She has shuffled up further along the bench now, clearly putting her current shit with Piper aside for my sake. _Jesus,_ I thought,_ I must be acting like a _complete_ wacko if Vause is prepared to snuggle up to Piper for me! _

"I'm fine" I start, forcing a smile "Just…it's a shock yano? Kid used to be such a fuckin nerd, and now she's fuckin killed someone? Yeah, that's some weird shit."

"How come you never mentioned her before?" Chapman pipes up, earning her a threatening look from Alex. I just shrug.

"Never came up in conversation, I guess. I never saw much of her as a kid, we got different Moms."

"But the same Pop?" Jones enquires. I nod in conformation.

"Holy shit, that dude must have some head'a hair on him!" Alex jokes, lightning the mood a little, as we all erupt into bouts of nervous laughter. Because of this, I do not hear Red as she approaches the bench, her freshly manicured hand landing on my back.

"What happened?" She demanded, concern dictating her tone. I grin up at her as she towers over me. I couldn't get her involved with this, not with all the shit that went down with Vee a few months back. No matter how much Red protested that she was still capable, one couldn't deny that her time to retire from such unnecessary responsibilities was fast approaching. She really didn't need my stinking pile of shit piled on top of her own, it wouldn't do any good for any of us.

"Nothin, Mommy. " I sing sweetly, pulling her down to sit on the corner of the bench.

"You sure? What was your sisters little outburst about then, hmm?" She asks suspiciously. Darn, this women was reluctant to give in.

"Nothin much, just think she's finding prison a bit of a shock to the system, yano? Me Pop's as rich as fuck, she won't be used to such deprived conditions!"

"Fair enough." Sniffs Red, getting up from the bench. "You lemme know if you need any help with her, you hear?" I nod and she winks at me promisingly as she leaves. As I turn back to my fellow diners, I notice that Piper seems to be suddenly mesmerised by her prison slacks and Alex is arching her perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. Yoga Jones looks uncomfortable, not meeting my gaze.

"What?!" I ask them.

"You gotta tell her, Nichols." Alex explains. "No good comes from lying." Piper scoffs at this comment, presumably amused by her contradictory. I cannot help the bubble of supressed laughter leaking from my mouth either.

"Ugh, fuck off, when the_ fuck_ will you get over that?" She yells, stomping out the cafeteria almost as melodramatically as Nat had, leaving Piper and I giggling childishly at her.

Only Jones, Piper and I remain at the bench. Predicting this was a pretty safe time to make my departure without seeming affected by Nat's revelation, I get up from my seat, bid farewell to my buddies and stride out the hall after Alex. The halls are swarming with freshly fed convicts, shouting and laughing and bantering as I make my way past them all and into the Suburb dorms, and then swiftly into the bunk I share with the irritatingly cheerful but incredibly hot Brook So-So. By this point I'd be banging her sweet lil pussy for around four months, and let it be known that this was the only advantage of bunking with that wacko hippie bitch. So-so was in for some good old fashioned protesting, I don't even know what the hell for, despite the fact she's probably told me on numerous occasions by now. I tried to avoid engaging with her in conversation as much as possible, which was not a rare occurrence for old So-so in Litchfield, as everyone knew, quite frankly, she was a pain in the god damn arse. Worst part was, I couldn't even shut her up whilst we were lounging in the bunk together by shoving my pussy or titties in her mouth. It was a fucking abomination, seriously, but we're getting beside the point. Fact of the matter is, So-so thankfully wasn't present in the dorm after supper that day, so I had some time to think about shit.

Prior to this point, I hadn't seen my sister for over three years. In fact, when I had last seen her, I'd be providing cocaine for her to consume, which resulted in me being carted back off to hospital for open heart surgery and weeks later being sent to this shithole. And now, here she was, quite probably because of me. I mean, having a junkie as an older sister, as a fucking role model some may say, was never going to do the kid wonders. Tastee lent me this book from the library once, on serial killers or some shit. The book stated that more than seventy percent of killers became the way they did due to traumatic childhoods, and having been supplied with coke and constantly humiliated and disappointed by my behaviour, her childhood certainly weren't no dream.

If you want to know the truth, I felt hugely responsible for Nat's incarceration. If it weren't for my existence, for my endless list of fuck-ups, she'd simply be an ordinary kid from New Hampshire, living in a big fancy house with a pair of fancy parents who loved her. Ever since my parents' divorced when I was merely eighteen months old, my father never made much of an effort with me. He'd had an affair with Nat's mom, the over groomed receptionist from his office, and broke my mother's heart, resulting in a lifetime of neglect and disappointment being thrown my way. My mother simply couldn't handle the fact I looked like the man who crushed her, who dropped her at the click of that racy receptionists fingers, leaving her alone with a demanding toddler and stacks of unpaid debts. He moved across the country, my father, with his new woman. They married, and seven years later, after many years of attempting to conceive naturally, Nat was conceived via one test tube among thousands in an extravagant family planning lab located somewhere in New York. I didn't find out about Nat's birth until three weeks after it actually took place. My step mother had been kind enough to send a photograph to the house, gloating to us about the joyfulness that consumed my father's new life away from us. Thinking back to that photo of little infant Natasha, crimson with heat and perhaps the love radiating from her new relatives presence, curled in to a foetus position, mouth slouched awkwardly to one side, I can now not help but feel a little satisfied. I know it's cruel and selfish of me to think this way, but at least the couple who had ripped apart the foundation of my life had now had vengeance inflicted upon them. That overachieving, innocent little girl that I had yearning for my attention every Christmas, the child that had represented my father's hope and happiness and that I had watched him dote on all my life, was now just as much of a fuck up as me, _more so_, perhaps, as my crimes were not harmful for anyone but myself.

However, after speculating for a little longer, I discovered that although a part of me felt gratified by Nat's incineration, a bigger part of me felt sorry for it. How the fuck had that purity, that innocence that Natasha Nichols had obtained right up until high school, suddenly vanished in just three short years? It didn't make any sense to me. Despite my jealously towards her, I had always loved my baby sister dearly. She had always been the only relative I could stand to be in the presence of, however since my overdose I've always felt to shameful to try and maintain contact with her. Perhaps if I had, she wouldn't have went down this path. Perhaps I could have saved her, could have influenced her in a way that wasn't so dangerously negative, and then she might have not got involved with something serious enough to result in her killing someone. I had a chance after chance to be a big sister to Natasha, all those family parties, all those summer barbeques and random weekend visits, and I blew it every time. I am so ashamed of myself for that, and I suspect I always will be, though of course I was never inclined to predict such a dire future for my sibling, and if I had been able to, I was sure that I would have made more of an effort to have been there for her.

To conclude my mulling, I decided on something. I decided that no matter what her shit, how bad it stunk or how much of it there was, I would be there for her in Litchfield, no matter what happened. I'd be the role model I'd never thought to be to her on the outside. I'd protect her and I'd get her through her sentence here, no matter how outrageous her crime. She was my sister, and I had done her wrong, nothing could ever alter that fact, not now, not ever.

* * *

As I exit the bunk, So-so is approaching it, so I am stuck making small talk about the revolution of nature or some shit for about twenty minutes before I can make my way back down the halls, and through the hallway leading to the first set of rooms. I'd stopped in to see Morello on the way down there, gaining the information that Nat had been put in room six, with DeMarco, she had said.

When I reach room six, the first thing I see is the blood. A scarlet puddle, the light from the bulb above reflected in it, is swimming placidly on the floor in the centre of room. A few red streaks paint the walls and the bed sheets on the bunk above DeMarco's, the very bunk that I occupied over a year after spending a month in the SHU. Nat's bunk.

A CO, whom it is not on my list of priorities to recognise, is standing with his back to the doorway, and my sister's fellow bunkies are gathered around him, they faced a picture of pure horror. Alex is there, her eyebrows once again raised but not in an air of mockery this time, but in one of alarm instead. A sombre expression dictates the faces of DeMarco and Harrison, whom for once seem united in their feelings towards something. When they see me, the three of them gawp helplessly, before Alex finally steps forward and clutches my arm, pulling me back out in to the corridor.

I don't know why I do not say anything. They're could have been a whole range of reasoning's behind those bloody streaks. But somehow, I knew it had something to do with Nat. Perhaps it was her absence at the scene, or perhaps some crazy sisterly instinct had suddenly given me the answer I was searching for, but I knew alright. I knew something was up, and I was to chickenshit to get any fucking conformation.

"You know she cut herself?" Alex asks me when we're safely outside of the room. I shake my head, bewildered. "Yeah, I guessed you wouldn't have known about it" She continues "I'm sorry, Nicky…"

"Why ya sorry?" I snap in response. "You didn't slice her open, did ya?"

"Well, no but…"

"Then there's no need for you to be fuckin sorry, Alex."

Alex studies me carefully, obviously hurt by my bitterness. "It's just something you fucking say Nicky, you know? It's called being a friend." Guilt suddenly washes over me, returning me to reality. I catch my friends arm as she turns to walk away, offering her an apologetic smile.

"_I'm _sorry." Alex scoffs mockingly.

"Well, after all that's just happened, I have no choice but to forgive you!" I chuckle at her sarcasm, pulling her into a much needed embrace.

"How'd she do it?" I whisper after a few moments silence. I feel Alex shrug.

"She had a blade, or something. Probably from her old place. They took her down to medical only a few minutes before you arrived, otherwise I'd of come found you." She explains, clinging to me tightly, beginning to rock me as the tears start to fall.

"She'll be okay though, right?" I ask hopefully. Alex shrugs again.

"I don't know, Nic. I'm no doctor. It looked pretty bad. She fucked herself up pretty darn good."

"Did you find her like…like that?"

Alex shakes her head. "She was up on her bunk, under the blanket, and I was pissed so I didn't say anything to her. Before I know it, in comes Harrison and she's screaming, because the whole bunks covered in blood and…" She gulps, as if what she's about to say next will cause her discomfort "Nat wasn't moving, Nicky. She'd passed out from the blood loss. I didn't know…I couldn't…how could I know? She was under the fucking blanket, and she wasn't crying or sounding like she was in pain or anything I…" Tears are brimming in Alex's eyes now, threatening to spill. I rub her back and rest my chin on her shoulder.

"It's okay, it's not your fault." I whisper, even though I'm not sure whether or not I believed what I was telling her.

"I'm sorry" She chokes, now weeping "It's just be so hard recently, coming back here, seeing Piper again, and now this!"

"Yeah, I know." I soothe.

"Sorry. I should be here for you, not pouring my fucking heart out to you." She mumbles, fiercely wiping at her face.

"No, it's cool." I reply truthfully "We all have our shit. It kinda helps to discuss other people's once and a while."

This makes Alex smile a little. "Well, how long ya got?"

I laugh. "All the time in the fuckin world, sunshine!" I joke, pulling away from the hug and holding her at arm's length. "I'm gotta go find out what's going on with my sister first though, okay?"

Alex nods. "Of course."

"You sure she's in medical?"

"Yeah, the nurse came down so I assume that's where they've put her for the time being, unless they've called an ambulance or something" Registering my look of horror at this comment, she adds "I'm sure they haven't though, it didn't seem _that _serious."

"Ok" I gulp "Thanks."

I throw one more reassuring smile at Alex before making my way back down the halls, desperately trying to blink back the panic induced tears, until I reach the door that leads to the medial room. Small groups of women crowd outside, and as soon as it is recognised that I am in earshot, all conversation quietens and every pair of eyes begin to burn through my prison uniform, scorching my skin.

I recognise Boo's crew-cut hairstyle among the string of bodies, and before I can consider my other options, I am weaving through the crowd to get to her. When I reach the group she is standing with, a couple of hot newbies sent over from maximum security, I apprehensively tap her on the shoulder.

"Any news?" I manage to ask.

It takes her a while before her eyes finally find me, as I am significantly shorter than her, as I am compared to almost everyone in the prison. However, when she does, her eyebrows knit to get in concern, and the bitch, usually so bitter and as sarcastic as myself, actually strokes my cheek in a act of comfort. "She's not..." I pause "She's not dead, is she?"

Boo shakes her head solemnly. "No, she's not dead, Nicky."

I exhale. "Thank _fuck_…"

"But" She goes on "They're throwing her in SHU."


	4. The Mars Bar Saga-Nat

When I finally wake, I find myself in some sort of hospital. Metal chains intertwine me with the bed I am laid back on, pinching at both my wrists, which are now decorated with fresh crimson gashes that have been sewn back together by someone with a seemingly unsteady hand, as the stiches are zigzagged and slightly uneven. For some reason everything seems overly bright, as clinics often do. From what I can observe in my compromised position, everything is white, except for the silver chains and the baby blue hospital blanket that someone has pulled over me. When I try to jerk my head in order to gain a better knowledge of my surroundings, the chains pull me back towards my current position, reminding me that I am still held captive, even in such an extreme circumstance.

"Hey there, no point in struggling!" Informs a male voice sideward from where I am lying. The voice is a familiar one, somehow deep and light at the same time. Bennett.

I sigh. "To right there isn't!"

"You remember what happened?" He asks gently, moving his chair a little closer to my head. I attempt to shrug in response and fail miserably, so instead, I say "I remember some of it."

Bennett nods. "You were out for almost an hour, you know. You lost a lot of blood. Apparently, the outcome could have been a lot more serious, you're a very lucky girl." Something about his tone does not make him sound condescending whilst delivering these words. If it had been anybody else, I would have felt like a naughty school kid if this was said to me, but somehow, not with him.

"I wouldn't call myself _lucky_" I find myself muttering.

"What do you mean?" Says Bennett, looking genuinely confused.

"What do you think I mean?" I snap. "I wouldn't cut myself if I wanted to fucking be here, would I?"

Bennett grows quiet, and from my co-operated view line, a grave expression washes over his face. I suddenly feel a pang of guilt against my ribcage. The poor guy was only trying to make conversation.

"I'm sorry." I mumble "I'm in a shitty mood, these things kill" I motion with my head towards my handcuffed wrists.

"Yeah, I don't know why they didn't just cuff your ankles. Would have been a lot less painful for you." He considers, returning to his chatty self.

"I think that's the idea." I groan "For me to be in pain. To teach me a lesson 'n all that crap."

Bennett shakes his head fiercely. "No, no way. The guards aren't like that here."

"You seem pretty certain of that." I reply.

Bennett considers this for a second. "Yeah, I've been here a while. It's alright, really."

"If it's so alright" I challenge "I suppose I'll be going straight back to the camp after I get the all clear, right?"

Bennett friendly gaze drops.

"Right." I smirk "I thought as much."

"Smuggling in weaponry is a serious offence, Natasha." Bennett explains, attempting to be firm but failing miserably. "They could have moved you to max, or gotten you a place at psych…"

"Wait, I'm not going to psych from here?" I'd been caught cutting twice at the detention centre, and both times I had simply been taken down the hall for a psychiatric assessment. On the first time, I was simply required to spend the night in that creepily immaculate and quiet facility, the peace occasionally interrupted with the odd pained screaming from a neighbouring room. The next time I was caught, they kept me a few days me, conducting a more thorough assessment and feeding me various anti-depressant medications. However, even then, I was released back into camp before weeks end.

"Nooooo…" Bennett says "You'll be taken to the SHU…"

"The what?" I interrupt, genuinely starting to panic now.

"The SHU." He repeats, then recognising my perplexed expression adds "You know, solitary confinement? Didn't you have that in your last place?"

_Shit. _

Of course juvy had a solitary. Every incarceration centre in all of America is required to have one, however from my experience, I had been taught that it was a threat, despite being thrown around fairly often, was very rarely carried out. But that was in the kiddies' prison. What the fuck did I know about the real deal?

"They can't send me there!" I practically shout at him "They can't! I didn't hurt anyone, I didn't do anything!"

"You hurt yourself." Bennett points out, looking so uncomfortable now that it would have been almost comical in a different circumstance "And you had the tools to harm others. We have no way of knowing whether or not you were just planning on hurting yourself or…"

"I don't give a fuck what you do and don't know!" I find myself yelling at him, straining against the cuffs. Bennett leans back in his chair, trying and failing to disguise his alarm at my sudden outburst.

"You know technically cursing at me qualifies as a form of verbal abuse…"

I scoff at this. "So fucking what? I'm already going to solitary!" Bennett cannot argue with this, so he stays quiet. For a few moments we sit in a stony silence. I hear the sounds of his heavy breaths, perhaps slightly quickened by the prospect of sharing a room with a teenager convicted of manslaughter. I try not to focus on his fear, I am not in the mood to feel the sting of the guilt that opening myself to it would bring. I am not in the mood to crave in to the softer side of me and apologise, perhaps make a little small talk about the weather or reality television. I am in the mood for hate and self-pity, compassion and sympathy wiped from my soul.

After a little while, I notice that Bennett has begun to stare at my arms. At first, I let him. Part of me likes the horror that comes over an individual's face when they see them, as though they cannot quite believe someone like me could create such dangerous wounds. People must feel the same way where they hear of my conviction. How could a sixteen year old girl possibly pick up a basic kitchen knife and plunge it into the chest of her lover until he could no longer cling to life? How could she stab that same knife into the leg of a young girl, not much older than herself, that had committed no other crime than being drawn in Joel Winters herself? As far as the courts were concerned, Joel Winters was a sadistic, manipulative man whom groomed young girls so that they would steal and deal his goods so that he didn't have to take that risk. That's why Elsie only got five months. That's why I got such a reasonable sentence, that and the fact that they found a significant amount MDMA in my blood stream that night. The drugs prevented me from really knowing what was and wasn't part of reality, according to my lawyer. But in reality, I was stone cold sober when the crime took place. The drugs had worn off hours ago and I was unfortunately aware of everything that was going on around me. I could never, ever forget it.

After a while Bennett's glaring begins to frustrate me. Satisfied that I had a reason to snap at him, I haul myself up slightly from my lying position and stare right back at him. He immediately looks away, embarrassed.

"I could get you reported from that." I say maliciously.

"What?" He replies, shocked "How?"

I smirk. "You're looking at my cuts with disapproval. It's gotta be wrong for a CO to be so prejudice about such a serious and quickly increasing issue."

Bennett expression can only be described as stunned, before quickly changing to remorseful. "I'm sorry if it seemed disapproving. I didn't mean for it to come across that way." I nod at him, not sure to react to his apology. A little more silence stretches between us, before he suddenly blurts out "My sister. She, um, she used to do that. So, um yeah." He gives a nervous little laugh "I wouldn't want anyone to think that I hold any prejudice against the topic. I loved my sister very much."

"Loved?" I can't help myself from enquiring, only regretting it when I see the look of grief that suddenly dictates his face. "Oh shit…I'm so sorry Bennett."

Bennett shrugs. "Don't worry about it, it happened ages ago, when I was a kid."

"It doesn't make it any less awful." I point out.

"Yeah, well. It doesn't matter. I just wanted to let you know." He coughs awkwardly "I know how difficult you must be feeling at the moment. And if you want my personal, unprofessional opinion, I don't think you should be getting transferred to the SHU. But rules are rules, I guess."

I smile at him. "Thank you."

"No problem, inmate." He recites.

* * *

About half an hour later, someone official comes down with another male officer I do not recognise. I hear Bennett address the official man, whom is middle aged with a little grey moustache, as Caputo. Caputo, seeming very stressed and otherwise engaged with my transference to the SHU, barley looks in my direction as he instructs Bennett and the unfamiliar officer to transport me down to the solitary confinement area as soon as possible. In a matter of seconds, he has exited the medical centre, and the unknown officer is unlocking the cuffs that bind my arms. Bennett looks on indifferently, disconnected.

Bennett's co-worker is just as unfrightening as Bennett, with his plump features and laid back attitude towards his job, however this does nothing to calm my pounding heart nor parch my sweating palms. On our way down to SHU, Bennett and his fellow correctional officer, who I learn goes by the name of O'Neill, engage in friendly banter with each other as they grab on to me tightly, causing pain to shoot up my injured arm. I want to scream at them, how dare they be so carless, so uncompassionate towards my situation, but my voice-box has suddenly shrivelled up within my throat and I have lost the power to create noise. I decide this is a good thing. Wouldn't want to piss off the people with a significant role in Caputo's decision to confine me in solitary. I wouldn't want to stay any longer than I had to.

After what seems like forever, the men lead me down a short downwards stairway and into a narrow corridor. The captivity is bleak and incredibly grey, both in appearance and atmosphere. As soon as the other prisoners hear the slam of that heavy metal door, an assemble of screams, pleads and abuse is thrown towards the guards. I also hear weeping, manic laughing and inmates speaking to either themselves or various hallucinations they may be experiencing. An icy shiver suddenly races down my spine and I stumble. Bennett's grip tightens on me as he hoists me back upwards. I feel him squeeze my arm comfortingly, but his eyes remain ahead.

My cell is the final one on the confinements left side. When we eventually reach it, O'Neill gently pushes me forwards and I stagger in to the room absentmindedly. As the men turn to leave, Bennett looks at me regretfully. At the last minute, when his companion is already out of sight, he reaches into his pocket and throws something across the compartment to me.

A mars bar.

It is only fun sized and a little squashed, but it is the first piece of chocolate I would have tasted in weeks, maybe months. A day or so ago I would have been overwhelmed with the excitement of such a luxury, but now I doubted that I would ever feel the need to eat again.

* * *

**Authors Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I kind of felt like I should put a shorter, snappier, more to the point one in the story in order to mix things up a bit. Would like to take this opportunity to thank readers for all the wonderful reviews I am receiving for this story, it really means a lot to me. Of course I would thank you all personally but unfortunately you all seem to be guests at the moment and therefore I am unable to do so. I would love to hear more of your ideas, opinions and feelings about the story, as hearing back from people who have read my stories honestly makes my day. Thank you again, and please continue to read this story as I have lots of twists and turns in store for both Nicky and Nat coming up in future chapters! – Lauren xxxx**


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